Friends and Lovers Trilogy 03 - Seduced (6 page)

Leading Sofia to believe that they’d had sex last night had been cruel, but damn, he’d been unable to resist. Twisted payback for the torture she’d inflicted in the middle of the night when she’d rolled into his arms, pressed that luscious, toned body against him, and clung. Man, had she clung. In return he’d lain awake with a stubborn hard-on. He was pretty certain he could’ve taken advantage and that she would’ve been a willing, though drunk, participant in a carnal slam. “
You’re sexy when you’re intense
.” But even
he
wasn’t that much of a bastard. He had, however, returned the embrace, smoothing his hands over her silky skin when she’d moaned and trembled from a nightmare. Physical contact purely for her benefit.

Yeah, right
.

The shower blasted and Joe had to fight not to imagine what Sofia looked like naked, water streaming over her hot
naked
body, the same body that clung to him in bed where she might as well have been
naked
, because damn, those skimpy Victoria’s Secret undies barely covered her fine assets. Not imagining her in the shower wasn’t working, he decided while stepping into his shorts. He had the boner to prove it.

You’re in serious trouble, Bogart
. Even watching her puke her guts up hadn’t diminished the attraction. If anything it had only highlighted that vulnerability of hers that burrowed under his cynical, thick skin. He had to get a grip. Solve her problem and get out with his heart and sanity intact.

Room service arrived just as he finished dressing. The perfect distraction, along with the two local newspapers he’d purchased in the gift shop. He scoured the
Arizona Republic
and the
Phoenix New Times
while inhaling two cups of a hearty Brazilian roast. Neither newspaper featured an article describing an accident or a crime that Sofia may have been involved in. He poured a third cup of coffee, needing all the caffeine he could get after three lousy hours of sleep, and pondered a course of action. First order of business, pick Sofia’s brain. With any luck she’d regained her memory with her sobriety. Otherwise, he’d have to call in a favor. He had a bad feeling about that Beretta.

Pipes groaned as she cut the shower. He gave her a few minutes to towel off, another vision he resisted, and then knocked on the bathroom door. During his gift store shopping spree he’d snagged a grey, hooded jogging suit, white T-shirt, and black sports cap. The outfit, each item embroidered with the hotel logo, had been overpriced, but she needed something to wear and, what the hell, in the end Murphy would be the one to pay. Just the thought of handing his brother an itemized bill for sticking him with Sofia caused him to smile.

Of course, that’s when she cracked open the door. “Forget it, Bogart. Just because it happened once, doesn’t mean it will happen again. Hell will freeze over first.”

It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about. Then it registered and he didn’t know whether to laugh or be insulted. “Damn, Marino. I was just messing with you.”

Instead of dropping the towel in a flustered moment of outrage, she clutched it tighter, effectively concealing her magnificent breasts—much to his disappointment. She narrowed her bloodshot eyes. “You mean we
didn’t
sleep together?”

He leaned against the jamb, one eyebrow cocked as moist steam swirled behind her, heating up the pulse-pounding scene. “Oh, we slept together, babe. You were all over me.” He itched to needle her for the sheer hell of it, but her mortified expression had him bailing. “Relax. If I’d nailed you, trust me, you’d remember. Besides, I prefer my women sober.”

She smirked. “Since when?”

Well, tou-fucking-ché and then some. But, hey, okay, this was good. Hard to be attracted to someone who’d just driven a spear through his heart. Jaw clenched, he passed her the clothes and returned to his coffee. “Get a move on. We’ve got work to do.”

“Joe, I …”

“Forget it.” The softness in her voice suggested she was about to apologize. Lulu had probably told her about Julietta’s death. He didn’t want to talk about it. Especially not with Sofia. “I struck. You struck back. You’re a fighter. That’s not a bad thing.” He snatched up his cup and turned, his gaze sliding from her bruised forearms to her skinned knees. “In fact, it may have saved your life.”

Sofia wanted to go home. Far from whatever mess she’d gotten herself into.

Far, far from Joe.

She could feel his frustration seeping through the bathroom door as she quickly dressed. Luckily, the clothes he’d provided her with were baggy so she didn’t have to worry about underthings. Her G-string and bra were hand-washed, rinsed, and hanging over the towel rack to dry. Maybe she could ask him to make a lingerie run. She’d bet her shoe collection Joseph Bogart was no stranger to buying sexy undergarments. Probably kept his girlfriends stocked in racy teddies. He certainly didn’t strike her as an I-like-my-women-in-flannel kind of guy. While he was deliberating over a lacy thong or satin G-string, she could steal away.

But then what? She had no money. No ID.

Where the hell was her purse?

Maybe she’d been mugged. If she’d fought back as Joe had suggested, that would explain her scrapes and bruises. Thing was, she didn’t remember an assault.

She braced her hands on the vanity and took a deep breath. She felt horrible. Not just because she had a fierce hangover, and a lapse of memory, but because she’d been unwittingly cruel. Yes, she hated that Joe had blatantly used a young woman as a means to an end. A woman who, by his own admission, had been insecure and dependent on drugs and alcohol. And, yes, she empathized with Julietta Marcella who’d fallen for a charming man’s lies. Sofia had been down that road more times than she cared to remember. But as irresponsible as Joe had acted, in her estimation anyway, Julietta’s death wasn’t his fault. According to Lulu, who’d gotten it straight from Murphy, Joe believed otherwise. He blamed himself so much that he’d walked away from his job with the FBI.

She definitely regretted throwing Julietta in his face.

But,
dammit
, he shouldn’t have teased her about something as serious as lovemaking. She hadn’t been physically intimate with anyone since her breakup last summer with Chaz Bradley. Her exagent had promised her a bright future, professionally and personally. He’d made her feel secure and cherished,
special
. But like every other man in her life, when he’d used the “L” word, he’d really meant “lust”. For some reason she was never “the one”, just “the one of the moment.”

Then Joe had kissed her, two short months after her breakup with Chaz, and she’d felt herself falling … again. When she’d learned that the sexy special agent was sleeping with another woman, and worse, that he was
using
that poor girl, it had reinforced her opinion that men were pigs and not to be trusted. Jean-Pierre had taken great exception to her generalization, suggesting she merely needed appropriate time to heal.

To prove to herself that she wasn’t a sexaholic or one of those women who only felt complete if they were involved in a relationship, she’d resolved to remain celibate until the one-year anniversary of her breakup with Chaz. When a man wined and dined her, the only thing he’d be getting a piece of was her
mind
. She was more than willing to share her thoughts, ideas, and opinions on a wide variety of subjects, but her body was off limits. She was more than just a pretty face, dammit.

“
You’re even more beautiful in person
.”

Sweat broke out on Sofia’s forehead as a garbled voice echoed in the recesses of her fuzzy mind. No face. No name. Just a vague recollection.

She stumbled out of the bathroom on the verge of hyperventilating as scant memories unfolded. “I had an appointment. I flew into Phoenix to meet someone. Someone important.”

Joe pushed out of his chair and met her halfway across the room. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.” She grabbed two fistfuls of her wet hair and tugged in frustration. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Slow down.” He grasped her upper arms and guided her into a chair. “Do you remember packing?”

“Yes. Yesterday morning. Very early. I remember packing for the weekend. I remember leaving Jean-Pierre a note saying that I’d see him in Vermont.”

“Did you tell him where you’d be over the weekend?”

“I told him I’d be at a spa, but I didn’t say where. I told my publicist and Lulu the same thing, but it was a lie. I didn’t want them to know my real plans. It was a secret. Or, I wanted it to be a secret.” She balled her fists in her lap so as not to rip her hair from the roots.

Joe poured her a cup of tea. “Sugar? Milk?”

“Black.” She thanked him, cursing her trembling hands as she lifted the cup to her lips.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
She sipped the bland brew, hoping it would calm her stomach. Swear to God she’d never touch another drop of tequila.

As if knowing her misery, he set a glass of water and the bottle of aspirin within her reach. “Visualize and walk me through yesterday. What were you wearing?”

“My pale blue linen suit—tailored jacket, mid-thigh skirt. Matching Prada shoes and handbag. I dressed to impress.” She curled her fingernails into her palms, thought hard. “I took a taxi to LAX. I remember flying into Phoenix. I don’t remember details, just fuzzy emotions. I was nervous, but excited.”

“So you landed at Sky Harbor International sometime yesterday late morning, early afternoon. Then what? Did someone meet you? Did you rent a car? Take a shuttle?”

“Someone met me. A tall blond in a dark suit. A limo driver. Tom. I remember a lot of traffic. Beautiful houses. Expensive houses. Not so much traffic. I remember driving through a big gate, up a long drive. Nervous. God, I was nervous. Then Tom stopped the limo and the door opened.”

“The limo door?”

“No, the house door and … ”

“Go on.”

Sofia swallowed as disjointed images blurred and faded. She closed her eyes, shuddering at the Picasso-like figure in her mind’s eye.

“What do you see?” Joe’s tone was gentle, persuasive. “Talk to me, Sofia.”

“Pieces of a man. Hands. Shoulders. Feet. I can’t look him in the eyes. He has no face.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I
know
.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her twitching eyelids. Her head was two seconds from exploding.

“Move inside the house. Tell me what you see.”

Her stomach lurched. “I can’t. I don’t remember anything beyond getting out of the limo and Tom driving away.” Unnerved, she opened her eyes and chased three aspirin with a glass of water. “The next thing I remember is waking up in the shed with the prop gun and … ” She palmed her forehead. “I can’t believe I threw away my suit. It was just stage blood, colored gel. How hard could it be to clean?”

“About that.” Joe stroked his goatee and studied her with unnerving patience. “You do know “Spy Girl” is on hiatus.”

She smirked. “How could I not know the schedule of my own show? Oh, wait.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “I mentioned my stunt double, didn’t I? I don’t know why I did that. I just, I had a sense that I screwed up an action scene. I’m certain my being here is work related. It must have been another kind of shoot.”

“The gun’s real, Sofia.”

Her skin prickled. “Real?”

“You said you threw away your suit. Where?”

The gun was
real
? “The ladies room down the hall from the lounge. I vaguely remember stripping in the stall and shoving the suit in the garbage pail.” She looked away, embarrassed. “I’d had a few drinks by then.”

He pushed a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of dry toast in her direction. “Eat something. You’ll feel better.”

“I’d rather have a cigarette.”

He reached into his shorts’ pocket, offered her a stick of gum, Wrigley’s Spearmint. She remembered he’d tasted like spearmint when he’d kissed her all those months ago. She resisted the memory and his offer.

Emotionless, he pocketed the gum, and moved toward the desk.

Goosebumps rose on her arms when he opened the drawer and removed the handgun in question. “If that’s a real gun, then the blood on my skirt could have been real.”

“Your legs and feet are pretty banged up. Could have been your blood.”

She wanted to believe that. She clasped her hands in her lap, fidgeted. “What if I did something wrong? What if I hurt someone and …”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.” He snatched up his cell phone. “Eat so we can get out of here. We’ve got a mystery to solve.”

She envisioned all sorts of bizarre tabloid headlines.
An overnight success ruined overnight
. She thought about her sister and Murphy. How they wanted to adopt a child. Would an agency reject them based on a relative’s mistakes? “I can’t afford a scandal.”

He frowned as he placed a call. “Then we’ll do our best to avoid one.”

She heard him ask for Special Agent in Charge, Creed. “But …”

“Trust me.”

He may as well have asked her for the moon.